


bees fight; bees sting; watch them die (and you can't do a thing)

by butmomilovemyboys



Series: when you lose something  you can’t replace; when you love someone, but it goes to waste [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Has a Family, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 15:02:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18662767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butmomilovemyboys/pseuds/butmomilovemyboys
Summary: Little Morgan Stark was a spitting image of her father. She didn’t look sad. More confused than anything.And as Peter sat on the porch swing, watching the bees fly around Pepper’s yellow hair and the flowers that surrounded the area, she approached him.“You’re Pete.” That’s the first thing she says to him. And it’s no question to her, she knows exactly what she’s saying.





	bees fight; bees sting; watch them die (and you can't do a thing)

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to the beginning of my fix-it/peter getting a happy ending because every single fic ive done post-infinity war was WRONG and i gotta fix it

 

Peter had been going to funerals all his life. 

The first one was his grandfather, when he was the ripe age of three. He doesn’t quite remember it, he doesn’t even remember missing the man. He just remembered his father and his uncle being sad, and poor little toddler Peter didn’t know why. There were times later in his life when Ben or his father would take him to see the grave, planted right next to his late grandmother’s. He felt Ben’s greif, but never his own. 

The next was one that stung him in his chest from time to time--his parents. Seven years old, young enough to not remember it all, but old enough to remember what was important. If anything, he remembers the night they died clearer. 

Everything was  _ fine.  _ Nothing was wrong. He loved spending time at his aunt and uncle’s. It was a night filled with Star Wars marathons and baking cookies. Aunt May was even letting him stay up until 10:00. But the knot that was planted in his stomach the moment Ben picked up the phone...let’s just say he could never forget the way his uncle’s face fell. The way he paled, the way his voice came out cracked. 

_ “Pete,” said Ben, slowly, calmly. “Something bad happened.” _

_ Aunt May was at his shoulder. “But everything will be okay, baby.”  _

_ “What? What happened?” But he could tell what was going to be said.  _

_ “Oh, Peter...mom and dad aren’t coming back.”  _

May dressed Peter in his own little suit, and Peter only remembered moving through the motions. Distant cousins and relatives came up and shook his hand, but all Peter could see was the double caskets, both parents slack and unmoving. He remembered he forgot to say goodbye. Forgot to say I love you. He was to busy getting all his legos together to show his uncle. 

But he remembers, strikingly, the way that he tucked the tiny Iron Man figure his mother gifted him once into his coat pocket. He rubbed it between his fingers, feeling the cool metal slide in between them. Safety. This was his safety. 

Uncle Ben had leaned down in front of him, his nose as red as Peter’s. 

_ “You doing okay, kiddo?”  _

_ Peter shook his head. “Nuh-uh.”  _

_ Ben winced in sympathy. “Oh, I know, Peter.”  _

But eventually it gets easier, the days don’t seem so long and he never forgets a goodbye or an I love you. He goes back to school, he eats his vegetables and he still builds his legos. 

Ben takes him to a Stark Expo for his eighth birthday, one of the first times he gets close to death. 

And  _ Iron Man  _ saves him. 

That year, Iron Man become more than a superhero for him. 

That is, until he was fourteen. 

It was cold, too cold for March. The wind was biting, unforgiving, and oh-so fitting of the day. 

He had run off into the streets, angry and emotional. Honestly, Peter couldn’t remember why. It was probably a mix of Flash and his new found powers and school and everything a teenager felt. 

But God, did he wish he hadn’t ran. 

Ben went out looking for him, because he was Ben and he loved Peter. 

Sometimes, even now, Peter could still feel the cold on his skin. 

_ “Peter! You have to take a breath--” _

_ “It’s too much--too much--” _

_ And Ben put his hands on Peter’s shoulders, lowering his chin to meet Peter’s eyes. “Everything is going to be okay, but I need you too--” _

And then the bang. The blood; the way his eyes widened. The way the grip on Peter’s shoulder tightened as Ben crumpled, and Ben was  _ supposed  _ to crumble--he was Ben Parker. He was strong and tall and was never hurt. 

Peter remembered the sirens, the shadows running, the scared look in Ben’s eyes. 

And he was gone, before Peter could even say a goodbye. Police separated him from his uncle, and before anyone could question him, Peter ran again. Back to his apartment, where his aunt stood in the middle of more police, more authority and neighbors and noise. But his aunt was there. 

And she hugged him and held on tight, as his brain exploded. 

The funeral was worse. 

The cold didn’t disappear, but the knot in his stomach returned. The thought of  _ yourfaultyourfaultyourfault  _ stayed with him the whole time, never leaving as they lowered his uncle,  _ his rock, _ into the ground. That’s the moment he realized he was never coming back. 

_ “Peter.” May was trying to talk to him. “Peter, please look at me.” _

_ But he couldn’t, because all he saw was the hurt.  _

That night, Peter took out the old Iron Man figure. A symbol of everything he was trying to be. He was far too old for superheros. But he ran his fingers across the metal, like he did when he was eight. 

He was no hero. He couldn’t even save his uncle, his  _ father.  _

Where was Iron Man when you needed him?

 

He threw the figure across his room, and for the first time, he cried. He sobbed into his pillows and he threw more, like clothes and trinkets, and knocked over the lego sets that him and Ben and Ned had spent so long doing. 

May came in eventually, calmly, like approaching a wild animal. 

And Peter broke. His knees crumpled, and the cries became sobs. May just held him on the floor, soothed him, patted his hair, whispered I love you’s into his ears. 

_ “You’re not supposed to be a hero, baby. You’re just a boy.”  _

 

~

Tony Stark’s funeral is the worst of all. 

It’s warm, the bugs were out, including the bees. Wasps. That stung the attendees even though everyone pretended not to care. 

Peter had slipped the Iron Man figure into his pocket again, hoping no one would notice. This was for him, not for the others. 

At least he got to say his goodbye. He got the I love you message across. He was grateful for that. 

Little Morgan Stark was a spitting image of her father. She didn’t look sad. More confused than anything. 

And as Peter sat on the porch swing, watching the bees fly around Pepper’s yellow hair and the flowers that surrounded the area, she approached him.   

“You’re Pete.” That’s the first thing she says to him. And it’s no question to her, she knows exactly what she’s saying. 

Peter, somehow, cracked a smile. “I am. You know me?” 

“Daddy has pictures of you. He showed me.” She clumsily got up onto the swing, grabbing for Peter’s hand to help her up. She had a good mix of both her father and mother’s spirit, unstoppable and headstrong. He could see it all over. “He said you’re a superhero.” 

“Superhero, huh?” Peter prompted. 

Morgan nodded sharply. “Spider-Man. He told me bedtime stories.” 

She laid her head on his shoulder, and Peter could feel the tears prick his eyes. 

“He had pictures of me?” 

She nodded. “He told me you were my brother. Just a different Mommy and Daddy.”   

The knot in his stomach got a bit smaller. He didn’t notice it as much. The tears falling from his eyes were a mix of both happy and sad, as this small girl with her father’s big brown eyes laid safely and content next to him. 

 

She was his new safety. 

 

“I loved your Dad very much.” Peter said through tears. 

“He loves you, I think. He called you a little shit. He calls me that too.” 

And now Peter was  _ laughing.  _ “And that means he loves us?” 

Morgan nodded again. “That’s what Uncle Rhodey said.” 

Peter moved for the first time, taking the little girl in his arms. She didn’t squirm away, in fact, she looked like she wanted him to. She placed her small little hands on his face, looking him right in the eyes. 

“Why are you crying, Pete?” She asked, tilting her head. Looking just like Tony. 

“You remind me of him,” he whispers.  _ Breathe. In. Out.  _

She doesn’t seem to hear him, or if she does, it doesn’t matter. She wipes his tears away, like it’s magic and she cured him of all sadness. 

“Daddy says it’s okay to cry,” she whispered back. “He said you were smart.” 

They subject change caught him off guard. “He did?”

“Yep. Super duper smart. Smart like him and Mommy.” 

“I don’t think there’s anyone as smart as your Mommy.” Peter chuckled. 

“And Auntie May came to see me sometimes.” 

“She did?” Peter didn’t know that. He looked up to see May and Pepper conversing, watching their kids from afar. He found courage to offer a light smile. 

“Yeah. Her and Mommy drink grown-up stuff and talked about you. Sometimes it made Daddy sad.” 

She nuzzled her head into Peter’s neck, hugging him. 

“What are you doing?” Peter wasn’t complaining, it was just unexpected. 

“Hugging you. Daddy said when he got you back you’d get all the best hugs.” 

“He did?” Peter’s voice cracked. 

She doesn’t respond, so he reaches his hands up and curls her in close. 

Safety. Safety. Safety. 


End file.
